Vowing to renew our memorable accident
Iadmire people who break out of the mould of ordinariness and bring colour to their lives. But things can get awkward when one is declared a protagonist. Initially, I balked at the idea but on the insistence of friends, agreed to a ‘vow renewal’ ceremony; celebrations of our silver jubilee had to be different. The death of my fiancée’s closest friend days before our arranged marriage had marred the celebrations. The husband now remarried to her sister took it upon himself to organise the event and relive the moments lost out then.
The preparations for a déjà vu commenced with hair dyeing and concealing of age lines and eye bags. The wedding dresses worn a quarter of a century ago and kept as souvenirs ever since were back in service; it was elating to fit back into them with significant alterations at the waist. The house was soon abuzz with nuptial activities with the ‘halwai’ taking centrestage, preparing mouth-watering laddoos. When the sound of music during ‘battana’ and ‘mehndi’ ceremonies reached the neighbourhood, it was a bit awkward explaining who was getting married. Thankfully, the farmhouse was relatively isolated.
My subconscious had to be trained to shed all inhibitions and get into the role of the groom; whiskey taking care of the stage fright. Attired like a maharaja with ‘kalgi’ on the turban and a sword in hand, I for a while did feel as if the clock had rewound. My queen in the bridal lehenga appeared as elegant as she had looked back then. Butterflies in the stomach of those romantic courtship days returned as we stole a glance at each other with demure smiles. The words, ‘They just don’t look their age’, were music to my ears.
Vodka shots replaced Pan Parag for ‘baraat ka swagat’. Our children chose to take sides with our daughter in the groom’s team haggling with ‘Dulhe ki saaliyan’ at the ‘milnee’ ceremony and son in the bride’s squad conspiring to steal my shoes. At the ‘original wedding’, a third party had absconded with them, fortunately, this time I got my shoes back. “Whoever places the ‘varmala’ first will be the dominant partner in the marriage,” my friends cautioned me. I was wise enough not to fall prey to this myth and bowed my head without resistance; roots of romanticism lie in reality.
Mindful of the provisions of Section 498 of the Indian Penal Code, one was still under a fallacy of receiving some ‘gifts’ as yet another surprise; unfortunately, there was only petal-showering and laughter at the ‘doli’. We started getting congratulatory calls with a tone of amazement when people saw our reels on social media. The silver jubilee photos were way better than those of the actual marriage; old wine is certainly tastier and more potent.
“Why did you agree to repeat the mistake?” a colleague asked jokingly later. “Marriage has been the most memorable accident of my life, it was worth colliding again,” I replied.
“A mistake repeated more than once is a decision,” I continued, indicating my plans for our golden jubilee, hoping we would be around that time, too.
MY QUEEN IN THE BRIDAL LEHENGA APPEARED AS ELEGANT AS SHE HAD LOOKED BACK THEN. BUTTERFLIES IN THE STOMACH OF THOSE ROMANTIC COURTSHIP DAYS RETURNED AS WE STOLE A GLANCE AT EACH OTHER WITH DEMURE SMILES